Samantha Hopkins Part 1: Suspect and Client
by Robin Janette
Summary: I've taken the character of Hopkins from the original cannon and reimagined him as an American teenager girl named Samantha. She will become Sherlock's protege, and this is how they meet. Multichapter. First story in series and my first fanfic. Rated T because I'm paranoid. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Would be cool if I did, but I don't. Sigh.

Sherlock glanced at the short text from Lestrade as he lounged on the couch in 221B.

_Double murder at Newcastle Hotel. Married couple from America on business. Please come. -GL_

Smiling, he strode over to John eating breakfast and writing up the events of the previous evening in his blog. Closing the laptop while John took a sip from his coffee, Sherlock held his phone out to John. John spluttered, burning his tongue. He muttered, "What the hell…" before his eyes focused on the text. John glared up at Sherlock. "That wasn't necessary!"

"A double murder, John. And since when does Lestrade say "please"? Something's afoot. Get dressed."

As John changed, Sherlock's phone buzzed for a second time. Lestrade again.

"Make that a triple murder."


	2. Chapter 2

DI Lestrade met them at the hotel's façade, filling them in while they traversed the hallway and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. "A Mr. and Mrs. James and Martha Hopkins, both 48 respectively, and their secretary, Annie Cooper, 33, all found dead in their rooms this morning, poisoned with concentrated methyl alcohol last night. The three deceased had drinks, Samantha Hopkins, their 18 year old daughter, didn't, and a few hours later, they all turn in. Miss Hopkins wakes up this morning, goes out to meet her parents for breakfast at a café agreed upon the night before, and after waiting an hour for them, goes up to their room. She finds her parents dead in their beds. She's a smart girl; she knew it would be unwise to be alone with the bodies before we arrived, so she drug a maid in to vouch for her. When we got here, she even had all their ID ready."

"She maintains her innocence?" Sherlock inquired, just as they exited the elevator and followed Lestrade down the hall to a hotel door. A youngish woman looked to be asleep on the bed. Her long dark brown hair obscured much of her face.

Lestrade continued, "Samantha tipped us off herself," jerking his head towards the corpse. "After she gave her statement, she tried to call Annie. When she didn't get a reply, I managed to force the hotel staff to open the room up. Been dead roughly 4 hours; must have been an anesthetic mixed with the methyl alcohol because they didn't appear to regain consciousness in the night."

Sherlock had gotten to work immediately examining the body and the room. "How long has she been with the Hopkins'?"

"According to Samantha, 7 good years."

"Any hint of either discontent or scandal?"

Lestrade shook his head. "She was a frequent blogger. From her most recent entries, the only thing I've been able to glean was contentment with her job and enjoyment of this trip. I couldn't find any hints of suicidal tendencies, but I've got people researching."

"Curious." Sherlock had turned from the body and was examining the dead woman's possessions. "Did she happen to mention any romantic attachments?"

"No, her last boyfriend was five months ago. No mentions of anyone else recently."

"Then why does she happen to have in her closet something like this?" He held up a long red dress with a low neckline and matching stiletto heels and started to examine them.

John cleared his throat and spoke. "Maybe she thought she would be going to a business party or something like that?"

"No, John. It's been worn within the past few days, given the amount of perfume lingering on the fabric. Going by the slight wrinkles, it's likely it was not on the hanger when it wasn't on her body. It has obviously spent some time on the floor. And why would she treat her showiest dress this way? If she was too preoccupied to care. Need I elaborate?"

Lestrade looked startled. "You're saying she was seeing someone in London?"

"Yes. Probably worth some investigating, don't you think? She was an insider to the family, the most likely person, after Samantha Hopkins herself, to have done it or supplied the information for it to be done. Perhaps she wasn't as content in her job as you supposed? Or a hypothetical murderer needed to cover his tracks? I doubt she was the murderer as Miss Hopkins ought to have been her third target, not herself. Whatever the case, lead the way, Lestrade." The three men exited the hotel room as a swarm of police began to take the body away.

Another elevator ride took them up to the 7th floor. The Hopkins' had booked two adjoining suites. As they entered the first one, Sherlock quickly strode over to the bed for a better view of the couple. He examined their bodies while John asked Lestrade, "Have you determined what kind of methyl alcohol was used?"

Lestrade frowned. "No, but we're pretty sure it was wind screen fluid. I've had all three hotel rooms searched, but I've come up empty."

"Samantha just let you search her room?"

"She didn't have much choice. I mean, I didn't force her, but it's not looking very good for her, is it? The three other members of her group, all murdered in one go? Of course, it would have been real easy to dispose of the rest of the fluid, no matter who did it."

Sherlock looked up from the bodies. "I think I have all the data I need. May we see the prisoner?"

Lestrade stopped. "I haven't arrested her yet. We still have no motive for the secretary, but Samantha's still the most likely murderess. And her demeanor," Lestrade shook his head. "I never saw anyone take death so coolly and calmly. Three people have died, but she hasn't shed a tear. Might be shock, but I'm not so sure."

Sherlock glanced through the closet on their way out. In the suite next door, a teenage girl was seated cross-legged on the desk chair. Her eyes were closed, but they snapped open as she heard the approach of the three men. She reached for a pair of frameless glasses on the desk; her brown hair was pulled back in a neat braid down her back, and she wore a t-shirt and jeans. Kicked-off sneakers lay below her chair. Seeing Lestrade, she asked, "Do you know what poison was used?"

Lestrade replied, "Methyl alcohol, most likely from wiper fluid." At the mention of methyl alcohol, Samantha frowned.

Before Lestrade could continue, Sherlock interrupted. "What do you know about methyl alcohol?"

Samantha swallowed and then spoke. "Other than a bit of chemistry, my cat died two days ago. My friend Tanya has been cat-sitting for me back home, and found Maya near death when she came over. I authorized Maya's euthanasia and cremation, but the vet determined that Maya had been poisoned with methyl alcohol. Tanya couldn't find any open bottles of cleaner or anything like that Maya could have gotten into. Um," she paused, "who are you?"

Lestrade introduced Sherlock and John. She didn't react. Sherlock asked, "How old are you?"

Hesitating an instant, she replied, "Um, I'm 18."

Sherlock took a step back. "Really Lestrade, even you cannot be this blind. The culprit is obvious. Whoever this impostor is, she engineered the death of her cat, most likely through her supposed friend or perhaps an actual friend gullible enough to fool, in order to create sympathy and direct attention away from herself. Furthermore, she isn't Samantha Hopkins because she is not the Hopkins' child, and again obviously pretending to be her. Her physical features are quite distinctive from the Hopkins', as she has brown hair and small hands instead of blond hair and large hands. And besides that, what person doesn't know her age? Simple."

Lestrade and John looked startled as Sherlock rattled off his deductions, but Samantha leaned back in her chair. Lestrade turned to Samantha, "Is what Sherlock said true?"

Samantha looked straight into Sherlock's eyes. "You are right in some respects, but horribly wrong with the blind assumptions you make without giving me a chance to explain, besides the fact that I haven't killed three people or my cat."

Sherlock leaned forward, "Do tell."

Samantha took a deep breath. "I am Samantha Hopkins, although the people lying dead next door technically aren't my parents. 19 years ago, James Hopkins had a one night stand with a college girl which resulted in me. As Martha couldn't have children for numerous health reasons, they treated the pregnancy as a surrogate. I was formally adopted by them at birth, and have lived with them ever since as their daughter. We don't generally advertise my parentage for obvious reasons. My birthday is today, and that's why I had to think about it for a second. Lestrade already knew from my ID, but that was the first time I had to say it out loud. Hard to get used to the fact that I'm a legal adult, my parents and their secretary have all been killed, and I'm in a foreign country with no friends or contacts." An odd look came into her eyes, and she glanced away. Her hands clutched at a phone tightly. "Do you need anything else from me, Lestrade? I need to make some calls."

Lestrade shook his head, and the three men went back out into the hall. John asked, "Do you still think she did it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock seemed lost in thought. "Hmmm? Oh, I wouldn't exonerate her yet. Very calm for her situation, I agree. Hasn't cried, which shows strength of character, little feeling for her parents, or possible guilt, but a bit hard to tell which at this stage. What has she been doing while her parents are in business meetings?"

"Sightseeing mostly. I've got her itinerary here, and she's produced receipts or ticket stubs that prove she was actually there. London Eye, slew of museums, Tower of London, and a bunch of others. Very organized for someone her age."

John looked at Sherlock, whose eyes had become unfocused. He held up a hand just as John was going to speak. The closest sound was Samantha's end of her phone conversation.

"I, I'm so sorry. When did she?"

The only other sound was the police rustling next door.

"Oh god, what did she, she…"

Her voice sounded strained, very different from the way she had sounded just a minute ago.

"I'm so sorry. I need to go. Keep yourself safe and give my love to Bailey. Bye."

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade heard a sliding sound, a soft thump, and sobs from the other room. Sherlock strode back into the room, and immediately asked, "Who died?"

Samantha tried to stifle her sobs, but they broke through. It was like a dam had been breached; anger and grief were pouring out of the teenager. "My mother!"


	3. Chapter 3

Samantha managed to calm down after a few minutes. "My mother was Sally Parker, wife of Brad Parker. They met in college, and live about two hours away. They had a daughter, Bailey, nine years ago." Tears slid down her cheeks. "They were happy; Brad and Sally are, were now, the nicest people I knew." She looked up at Sherlock standing beside her chair. "Whatever my parents or Annie might have done, she didn't deserve to die."

Sherlock cocked his head. "How did you know the Parkers? By your own account, you were separated at your birth."

"I always knew my parents weren't my parents; they didn't believe in keeping secrets. By the time I was 10, I demanded to see her. We just hit it off right away. Ever since, I've spent a week or two at her house every year and gotten to know one another. She never told Brad, though. Or Bailey. I guess I'll have to tell them now." She sniffed, wiping the last of her tears off with the backs of her hands and put her glasses back on. John and Lestrade had kept back as Sherlock started to interrogate the teenager, although he was gentler than he usually was. He hadn't insulted her yet.

Sherlock asked, "Why do you think your parents and Miss Cooper were killed?"

"I don't know. From a business perspective, they could have been doing something shady, theoretically, and someone wanted revenge. But why would they kill my cat or my mother? Or murder them in a foreign city? Or leave me alive? I don't understand; my parents were decent people. None of the business associates I know had anything close to a motive for murder."

"Has it occurred to you that you are the link to this case? All three of the people considered to be your parents were killed, plus your cat. While you didn't have a strong bond to Miss Cooper, the other murders seem to point to you as the murderer."

Samantha stared in disbelief. "But I can't have murdered my mother, or my cat! I've been in England for both of their deaths. If this is pointing to me, then I'm being framed. I've done nothing to warrant this!" She was angry, glaring at Sherlock.

"You could have had an associate for the other murders."

"I'm an eighteen year old girl from a stable household. Do you really think I have the kind of friends who would murder my family for me?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "What would you consider a motive for murder?"

Samantha paused. "Hate, revenge, and gain, I guess. There's nothing to be gained from my mother's death, or the death of Annie financially, although I will inherit my parent's assets. I can't prove that I loved my parents and would never do anything to harm them, but I can assure you that if I was the murderer, I wouldn't cut short my own vacation time in an incredibly interesting city and murder my parents here. It would be so much easier to murder them back home and make it look like an accident than to kill them in such a way that it had to be deliberate murder."

"Did you notice anything different in the demeanor of Annie in the past few days?"

Samantha shook her head. "Not really. I wasn't particularly close to her, but she didn't seem different."

"Did she miss any meals, or appointments on this trip?"

"Tuesday night she didn't have dinner with us. She said she had a headache, but her lips were bruised in the morning. I really don't think she had a headache, if you know what I mean."

"Interesting. Thank you for your time, Miss Hopkins. I don't believe you did kill your parents; I just needed to be certain. Come on, John." With that, Sherlock swept out of the room.

Lestrade and John were bursting with questions as Sherlock led them back downstairs. "How could you possibly know?" ""What do you mean, she's innocent?"

Sherlock answered, "She was speaking the truth, as witnessed by a steady heart rate. Plus, I doubt she'd be able to fake that kind of emotion. And she does have several points; she cannot have murdered her mother or her cat with her own hands, and she is hardly likely to have hired a hitman for them. The location of the crime is telling; it was obviously someone from home who didn't want to be recognized with the crime. If the murders took place abroad, then they would be above suspicion, and the crime seems to be targeting Samantha herself, as three of the four deaths would have elicited an emotional response and left her feeling uncertain and afraid. Need I continue?"

Neither John nor Lestrade had a good counterargument. Lestrade followed them out of the building with the last of the police, and Sherlock and John headed back to Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

Samantha Hopkins' Facebook post, 11:45 AM London Time:

"Mom, Dad, and Annie their secretary were all found dead in their hotel rooms this morning. London Police are investigating their murders; they were all poisoned. I am in need of guidance and prayers right now."


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as the pair returned to 221B, Sherlock delved deep into his mind palace for several hours, until he startled John with a yell. "A poisoner, John! How could I have been so blind? We need to go back." Sherlock leapt off the couch as John followed him out.

"What do you mean, Sherlock? Blind about what?'

They climbed into a taxi, but Sherlock wouldn't elaborate. John tried to ask Sherlock more questions, but Sherlock ignored him. The cab ride was mercifully short, and Sherlock bounded out of the cab, leaving John to pay. John followed as quickly as he could. When he got up to Samantha's room, Sherlock was frantically pounding on her door. "Open up!"

Samantha called, "Who is it?"

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. "Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson; who else?"

"Just a sec." Samantha unlocked and opened the door, and Sherlock burst into her suite. He started looking around the room. "What's the matter?"

"What have you had to eat and drink today?"

"Bottled water, one bottle of pop, and crackers." Samantha closed the door after John.

Sherlock visibly relaxed. "How did you know to restrict your diet?"

"Well, if we're dealing with a murderer whose favorite weapon is poison, I need to protect myself. For as long as the murderer goes uncaught, I will eat only processed foods that I have carefully examined for defects and bottled beverages. Even those items I'm keeping in my suitcase, which is padlocked and I have the only key." She lifted a key hanging from a chain on her neck.

"I should have thought to warn you, but it turns out you didn't need to be told. I see you've been working on the case." He was sifting through an open notebook lying on the desk.

Samantha moved to stand beside him. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. Whoever the murderer is, he or she would need quite a bit of knowledge to commit all of the murders, which have to be connected because the poison used was the same. I thought it would be easier to organize my ideas this way." She took the notebook from him and flipped to a different page. Sherlock ripped out the appropriate page and handed it over to John. It was a semi-Venn diagram with five circles labeled "Mother", "Parents", "Maya", "Annie", and "Known to be out of town". Many names were written in the circles, and underneath the diagram was a list of people who fell under 2 or more categories.

John sighed. "Samantha, has it occurred to you that this is exactly what the murderer wants? You're paranoid, frightened, and holed up in your hotel room. If the murderer is trying to scare you, then aren't you playing into his hand?"

Samantha looked up, a careful distance in her eyes. "I know I'm probably not long for this world. Even with dietary restrictions, that does nothing to protect me from a gun or a knife. I'm more afraid that he or she will keep killing people I love to get at me, and I can't do anything to stop it. I've been checking my email religiously for some sort of ransom or threat or lead, but I've gotten nothing. The most productive thing I've thought to do is work on a list of names; hopefully if I die, then you will have some place to start."

John felt sick. Samantha was barely an adult, and was under stress no 18-year-old should have forced on her. Sherlock asked, "Can you tell me more about some of the more likely of names?"

"Which ones?"

"Tracy Lawson, Jacob Mansfield, and Caroline Adams. They all have at least two or three of the five requirements."

Samantha sat on the end of the bed. "Okay. Tracy has been my best friend since 5th grade when she moved to my neighborhood. We've been friends ever since. No major fights or a recent change in behavior or attitude that would make me suspicious of her. She was the one taking care of my cat, but she doesn't know about my mom, nor has she gone out of town recently. Her vacation is next month." She grabbed her phone and found a picture of Tracy. Handing her phone to Sherlock, he scrutinized the picture.

"Any fights over romantic partners or things of that nature that might lead to bad feeling between you?"

Samantha blushed. "No, I don't date. We've never competed over boys or anything like that." She looked down. "We've had less contact for the past two years, as I started going to college part-time my junior and senior years of high school. But I can't imagine her doing something like this. She's a good person, even if she's not the sharpest knife in the drawer."

Sherlock leaned forward. "But that's not the case for Jacob, is it?"

Samantha sighed. Her blush had given it away. "He's my boyfriend, although my parents didn't know that. We met a year ago at college, and we just hit it off. He's really smart and funny, and he's met my parents and my cat." She held out her phone again with a picture of her and Jacob.

Sherlock leaned back and asked, "If he's your boyfriend, then why were you hiding that from your parents? Would they not have approved of him?"

"No, it's just complicated. We're still figuring things out, and I didn't want them to worry. We haven't done it or anything, but I see him every day and he's my best friend at college. It all got more serious a few months ago when he told me that he loved me. Like Tracy, he hasn't suddenly changed character or anything like that. He doesn't do drugs or drink."

Sherlock was pacing the room. "How about Caroline?"

"She's Dad's coworker. She comes over a lot to talk business. Without Dad, she'll be the vice chair, and not have to share that with him. They worked together well, as far as I know. She doesn't know about my mom, so she doesn't really make sense either." Samantha sighed. "That's the problem; I'm too close to all these people. I don't think any of them would do something like this. They're all too normal and good. Ugh." She threw herself onto the bed and rubbed her eyes under her glasses.

Sherlock tore off a corner from her notebook, and wrote down his number. "Perhaps I can provide the distance needed for this case?" He handed her the paper.

"Sure. Do you want to come over tomorrow afternoon? I have church in the morning."

Sherlock took a step back, his attitude instantly changing. "Most of your immediate family has been killed, and you want to go to a silly religious," he said it like a curse word, "ceremony? You would risk your life leaving a relatively safe area to go walking around London?" He looked disgusted, but a bit sad too.

"Sherlock!" John knew that Sherlock disliked religion on principle, but that rant certainly wasn't necessary.

Samantha sighed. "Most of my family has been killed, and you think I don't need spiritual guidance right now? It's about the only thing keeping me going. That and the paranoia. You don't have to take my case if it offends you." She looked up. "I can take care of myself."

Despite her brave words, Samantha looked brittle, like someone about to crack, and small. Anyone with a bit of strength could easily overpower her. Sherlock sighed again. "Fine. I'll take the case. If you must attend church, don't stray into unpopulated areas. Tomorrow afternoon it is, then." Sherlock walked out of the room.

John handed the Venn diagram back to Samantha, "Really, he's not that bad,"

Samantha cut him off. "It's fine, John. I'll be fine." She gave him a weak smile. "Take this," she handed John a room key. "I stole it from my dad's wallet when I was getting his ID. If you don't hear from me for at least a day, you and Sherlock have my permission try and find me."

John quickly left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Samantha woke to her alarm. Everything that had happened the previous day came crashing down on her, and she screwed her eyes shut, willing the sudden moisture in her eyes to not spill over. She had to be strong, strong enough to take care of herself. She couldn't let her parent's murderer think she had cracked, that he (or she) had won and turned her into a frightened child. She was used to acting, both in plays and in real life; this was no different. Samantha swung her legs off the bed and took a shower. She put on her church clothes: a long blue skirt with a matching v-neck. She put her hair back in a hairband, too tired to do anything more elaborate. While she showered, dressed, and ate a meager breakfast of crackers and water, she kept considering the people around her, hoping to find someone suspicious, but coming up short.

At 8, she left her hotel room and walked a few blocks to the church she had picked out. After the service, she felt a bit better, more calm and with hope that everything would be alright somehow. As she began to walk back to the hotel, she got a text:

_At Heathrow. Meet me there? Saw your post and had to come. I'm so sorry._

Samantha stopped dead. Her heart leapt into her throat, and all the emotional barriers she had built seemed to crumble. Instead of sorrow and fear, she felt mad; it would be so easy, simple to give in to it. Let the mad thoughts take her, and everything would be over. She hailed the next available taxi and told the cabbie, "Heathrow and step on it."

She took out her phone, and texted Sherlock a plan, a crazy, irrational, insane plan, but necessary. Or so the madness told her.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock read Samantha's text thoroughly. "John," he called.

John came down the steps from his room, "What is it, Sherlock?" Sherlock held out his phone so John read the text. "This is insane," John was shaking his head. "Why is she doing this?"

"Closure." Sherlock got up and put on his coat. John still looked stunned. "Hurry up; we've got a murderer to catch."

Sherlock and John took a cab to Samantha's hotel and waited in the café across the street for their cue.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock and John watched a cab pull up to the hotel, and Samantha and a figure in a black coat walked into the hotel; the figure faced away from them, and John couldn't even tell if the figure was male or female.

"I do believe that's the signal."

They followed a minute later up to Samantha's room, waiting, as per her instructions, for another signal for them to open the door and take the murderer. John kept his gun in his pocket.


	8. Chapter 8

Samantha steeled herself as she got out of her cab and met her friend at the curb of Heathrow airport. Her voice shook a little. "It's good to see you."

He pulled her into a hug. "I had to come. How are you handling? You look awful."

Samantha's eyes were red and puffy. "Not well, I'm really shook up. The police think that I did it, but they can't prove it. No evidence."

Jacob put his hand in hers. "Well I'm here now. You'd never do anything like this, I'm positive. They know for a fact it was murder?"

"Had to be. How else would methyl alcohol get into three people's drinks?" Samantha sniffed. "I'm exhausted. Let's head back to my hotel room. Do you have a place to stay?"

Jacob grimaced. "I hadn't gotten that far; when I heard, I just jumped on a plane."

"You can stay with me, that is if you don't mind staying with someone under suspicion of murder." Samantha looked down, ashamed.

Jacob squeezed her hand and kissed her. When he pulled away, all he said was, "I don't care. I love you, and we'll get through this. Together."

They got in a cab together, and Samantha gave the address of her hotel. After paying, they went up the elevator to her hotel room.


	9. Chapter 9

Samantha opened her hotel door and threw her purse on the table. "There's only one bed, but it's pretty big."

Jacob set his bag down. "It's fine. Just fine."

Samantha took his duffel and put it up on the table, looking sharply up at him. "If you just got into London, then why is the date on your luggage tags wrong? They're days old."

Samantha lunged for her purse, but he grabbed her and held her tight. He whispered in her ear as she weakly struggled. "How could you have been so blind? Did you really think that I'd come all they way over here just to comfort you? You can't see past your own ego to notice me in the background. I don't love you, and I never did. You just played into my hand."

Samantha stopped struggling, and started to laugh. His hold on her loosened with surprise and she broke free. "You think I didn't notice? My own brother? I'm not as blind as you think."

Jacob's face softened for a second before going back to a hard mask. "What do you mean, brother?"

Samantha's eyes sparkled with an odd light. "My half brother. Son of my father. Evidently my mother wasn't the only woman he knocked up."

Jacob sighed. "How did you know?"

"Obvious." She rolled her eyes and started talking really fast. "We share many of the same features; how many people have asked us of we were siblings? Five months ago, after your mother died, you found out about who your father really was. You were angry that your mother was stupid enough to not tell our father about you, raising you apart from the inheritance and parentage you deserved. If she had told him about you, it's possible I wouldn't exist today, if she had married him instead and they had been happy. You wanted his family discredited and shamed, while framing me as their murderer, the girl who had the life you should have had. That's why you told me you loved me around when your mother died; you put two and two together. You just needed to separate yourself from the crime, which is why you waited until this business trip to make your move. Annie was meeting you Tuesday; that's when you learned our itinerary and made your plans. You spiked their drinks, and waited until I would let you in." Samantha stopped. "But it didn't work."

"What do you mean? I've killed everyone you hold close for no good reason. I've won, and I promise you won't leave this room alive." He grabbed her bag and put her phone in his pocket. He advanced toward her.

Samantha stood her ground, "You haven't won because I'm grateful."

Jacob stopped. "Grateful?"

Samantha smiled. "You don't know how much I hate my parents. My slutty mother, my sleazy father, and his sickly wife. They were all weak and stupid, and I'm glad they're dead." She walked closer to him as he stood frozen in shock, taking his face in her hands. I know you love me, and it sickens you. You keep telling yourself you hate me, that we're wrong, but nothing has ever felt so right." The madness was evident in her voice, overwhelming her sanity. Their eyes dilated, and shivers ran up and down Samantha's back. "You love me, and you don't care. I love you, and I don't care." She brought their lips together, tangling her hands in his hair. His lips moved to her throat while his hands slid up her shirt, raising it above her head. She brought their lips together again, kissing him fiercely. Then she threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs.


	10. Chapter 10

Five months previously.

Samantha and Jacob sat down on Jacob's dorm bed, spreading their notes in front of them. Samantha smiled, "At least one of us takes good notes, even if my handwriting stinks."

Jacob started to copy. "For which I'm eternally grateful." He kissed her lightly on the lips.

Samantha blushed. "You didn't need to bribe me. I would have let you copy anyway, regardless of your, um, favors."

Jacob laughed. "You're so old fashioned. Who says "favors" anymore? Besides, it's not like I don't enjoy them too." He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her again. "You know, there are other ways to "favor" you."

Samantha blushed again. "I rather like this way."

"But you have options. Options I'd like to try, personally."

Samantha sighed and stood up, breaking Jacob's hold. "I don't." She looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"I just, well, sex is kind of taboo for me. It's not religious, its just that when you were conceived when your father had a one-night-stand with a college girl, you don't have a burning desire for premarital sex. Call me a prude, but I really don't want to follow in my biological mother's footsteps." Samantha turned away.

Jacob stood up and took her hand. "I respect that, and I'm glad you told me. I don't want you to feel pressured."

Samantha smiled. "Thanks." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Awkward conversation aside, let's get back to work."

"Yes ma'am." He put his arm around her as they studied.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock and John burst into the room at the sound of the scream; John drew his gun and aimed it at Jacob. "Don't try anything; it's loaded and I'm not afraid to shoot." Jacob's hands left Samantha and rose in the air as Samantha backed away and held her shirt in front of her bra. She put it back on and she took her phone out of Jacob's pocket, calling the police.

Sherlock opened Jacob's bag to find a half-empty bottle of wind screen fluid. "Samantha was right; it was him."

"Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Your half-sister enlisted our help in solving her case, which she did a pretty good job of herself."

"You heard everything?"

John cleared his throat. "Yes, much more than we wanted to, let me tell you."

"But you heard what she said! She wanted her parents dead; she hated them." Jacob looked confident. "She's the murderer, not me."

Sherlock turned and smirked at Jacob. "Samantha told me ahead of time that she would have to use extreme tactics to lure you into her trap, which might include saying things she didn't mean." Sherlock leaned in. "She was faking."

Samantha took her phone from her ear and looked up. "Lestrade's on his way; should be here in a few minutes."

"You're just going to hand me over?"

"That's the plan." Samantha put her phone away.

"And once you do, will I see you again?"

Samantha looked straight into Jacob's eyes. "Maybe at your trial, but not face to face. I don't particularly want to."

"Because I hurt you?"

"No, because you're scum and I don't deal with scum."

Silence fell in the hotel room after that, as they waited for the police to arrive. Once they came, Sherlock explained everything and Jacob was put in handcuffs. As he was led out the door, Samantha turned away.

Sherlock smiled. "Good deductive reasoning in the face of emotional trauma. There's more to you than meets the eye. Your acting was superb; that was a difficult piece of work, and John nearly had doubts," Sherlock stopped as Samantha was shaking and crying with her head in her hands. "What's the matter?"

Samantha sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Sherlock. "I wasn't acting before you came in. I know he's guilty and he's caused pain and suffering to a heck of a lot of people, but I still love him! I'm stupid and needy, but it was harder to let him go and pretend like I didn't care than to lure him up here. I don't know why." Samantha started to sob.

John sighed, "Perhaps that's just it; you still love him. Love doesn't care about what people have done, and you can't control it. You just need time to settle and move on. He's made his choices, and you had to make yours. He was perfectly horrible to you, but you shouldn't let him stop you."

Sherlock was obviously uncomfortable with the change in conversation. He kept glancing at Samantha and glancing at John, trying to take cues from him. John looked up at Sherlock and mouthed, "We ought to let her be."

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "We should leave. Congratulations on solving the case." Sherlock and John left the room, and Samantha curled up on the bed and cried herself to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Three days after Jacob was arrested, Samantha got a text from Sherlock. She was confused for several reasons which she considered while she rode a cab to the address Sherlock provided in his text, 221B Baker Street. Neither man had texted her after they left, so why was she needed now? Samantha knew, from an Internet search on "Sherlock Holmes" that 221B was his home address, but why had she been summoned? Samantha toyed with her questions until she arrived, paid the cab driver and knocked on 221B's door.

A few moments later, John opened the door. "Hello there! What are you doing here?"

"Sherlock texted me this address, but I don't know why. I don't think I need a detective right now."

John looked puzzled, exactly how Samantha felt at the moment. "Well, come in I guess. Sherlock's unavailable right now."

"He's out?"

"No, in his bloody mind palace." John looked exasperated. "I was downstairs talking to our landlady when he went in, and he hates to be disturbed."

"Do you know when he'll be, um, out?"

John signed. "It varies. Do you want to wait here, or I could call you back later?"

"Um, if it's alright with you, I'll stay. I don't have anything else going on."

They sat on the steps inside and began to chat. John cleared his throat, "So, how have you been doing the past few days?"

Samantha smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, about the future and everything." She sighed. "There are a lot of decisions that have to be made."

"What are your short-term plans?"

"The last of the paperwork and stuff should be finished in a few days, and then I'll be heading home with my parents' ashes and Annie's body. Some of my church family has been helping with setting up arrangements. They've really stepped up."

"Who else do you have to help you?"

"My family's pretty small, since most of them live across the country. I've mostly got my friends and church and theatre families, but I think I should be able to muddle through. At least I'm an adult now; it makes everything a lot easier."

"Would you mind if I wrote up your story in my blog? I wasn't sure, since it's pretty personal and all, and I didn't have a way to contact you."

"It's fine as long as you don't use my name, of course. What's done is done. I've been looking through your blog after I Googled you and Sherlock. You do this sort of thing for a living?"

John shook his head, "Oh, I'm just his blogger; it's not like he pays me. I work at a hospital part time."

"Interesting." John and Samantha both jumped at the sound of the door opening. Sherlock was peering down at them.

"What are you doing down there?"

John sighed. "Door was locked. My key's are upstairs, and Mrs. Hudson's spare's missing."

They climbed up the stairs. Samantha asked, "Why'd you ask me to come here, Sherlock? Is there something you need?"

"Sit down." Samantha did so as Sherlock paced the room. The Consulting Detective's living room was a dark mess, and she really didn't want to try to place one of the smells pervading the room. She wasn't grossed out, but she was just starting to realize just how odd Sherlock was. An awkward silence ensued as Sherlock kept pacing and Samantha didn't know what to say.

John asked, "Do you want anything to drink, Samantha?"

She gave a polite smile, "No, thanks, I'm good."

Silence filled the flat apart from Sherlock's light tread. Samantha was about to get up and leave when Sherlock finally stopped pacing, whirled around, and said, "You didn't say what your long term plans are."

John looked shocked, but Samantha didn't mind much. "You were listening."

"Is that a problem?"

John was about to say that it bloody well was, but Samantha replied instead, "Not really. Nothing you shouldn't have heard. Anyways, I'm enrolled at college and I want to be a computer programmer. Those are my only solid plans at this time."

"Boring."

"What do you mean, boring? I like computers. What's wrong with that?" Samantha was happy with her choice; she had planned her college schedule for years and didn't take kindly to someone who disagreed.

Sherlock sighed. "You can do better than that."

Samantha was getting tired of being in the dark. "Define better."

Sherlock took a deep breath, and Samantha nearly sighed. He was obviously about to go on one of his spiels. "You have many talents that would be wasted in a desk job. You work well under pressure, physical and emotional. Your theatre background and skills are great assets that would languish while writing code. You know how to think and reason. Therefore, your skills would be better put to use as a detective."

Samantha was just as shocked as John looked. He was still hanging around the kitchen doorway, unsure if he should intervene or not. "Sherlock, I don't want to be a detective."

"Have you actually given it any thought?"

"No, but it's dangerous. Don't have to worry about that sitting at a desk."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be puzzled. "But you'd make a passable, possibly good detective!"

"Yeah, according to you. Besides, I just don't think I'm cut out for that kind of thing. If this is the only reason you brought me here, then I'm sorry, but I'm happy with programming and I'm just not interested in becoming a detective." Samantha stood up.

Sherlock looked her straight in the eye. "I think that with the right training, you'd excel, which is why I want to offer you an internship with me so you can learn my techniques."

Samantha sighed. "Sherlock, I'm going though a lot right now, and term starts in just a couple weeks. If I promise to think about your offer, will you give me a few months? Will your offer still stand then?"

"Yes. I'll be waiting for your reply. We can iron out the details later."

Samantha pulled a notebook page out of her purse and tore off a strip, "Here's my email." She handed the slip to Sherlock. "I promise to think about it, but I probably won't take you up on your offer."

Sherlock smiled. "I know, but it's for your benefit, not mine."

With that, Samantha descended the stairs and out of 221B. John turned to Sherlock and asked, "You really think she'd make a good detective?"

Sherlock turned to John. "Positive."


	13. Chapter 13: Epilogue

Four months later.

Samantha had everything under control. College was going great, and she was having a wonderful time. Emotionally, she was taking each day one step at a time, and her friends and extended family were really helping her out.

As she drove home on a Monday afternoon, she was still throwing around the crazy idea of becoming a detective. She hadn't been able to push Sherlock's offer completely out of her mind. The excitement and challenge that came with being a detective were hard to ignore. She had looked into the requirements for a criminal justice major, and it was pretty interesting. Just as she got out of her car, Samantha decided that an internship couldn't hurt, and began mentally drafting an email to Sherlock as she got in the house and turned on lights and the TV. She stopped when she saw the top news story, "Suicide of Fake Genius". Sherlock had committed suicide, and it had made the news all over the world.

Reeling from the news, Samantha sat down at her table and watched the clip. She couldn't believe that Sherlock had been a fake. No one could be that brilliant and yet so odd.

Sherlock's suicide cemented her choice. He had been right; she would make a good detective. Even if he never knew it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I should have the second part of this story up in a few weeks, Samantha Hopkins Part 2: Intern and Protege. **


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